The Cough
by Colored-Sand
Summary: Luke's legs buckled underneath his weight. He fell to the floor, clutching himself tightly. He coughed. His coughs were not dry and brittle, but wet: full of spit and maybe phlegm and...something thick and red that seeped though his fingers.


Author's notes: Ok, ok. I'll admit it: this is an April Fool's prank. I was inspired by the first dialogue in the third game (Unwound/Lost Future), in which Layton says that he thought that the mysterious letter he got from "Future Luke" was a prank from the present-day Luke at first. That made me wonder: what sort of pranks would Luke play on the professor? And then I got this idea. Because April Fool's was just around the corner, I decided to go with it. So no: Luke doesn't die or anything. However, now that you are here, feel free to read my little story and to review/fav/flame/joke/etc!

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><p>Gresenheller University.<p>

Stronghold of knowledge. A fine series of buildings, housing London's greatest intellectuals. Among their staff, one of the most prominent is, is without a doubt, Professor of Archaeology: Hershel Layton. Professor Layton is known for his keen ability to tackle any puzzle with ease.

Not that it matters.

This is the story of that fateful day in which his self-proclaimed apprentice Luke Triton, appeared in his office in the morning. It was a Saturday, so the boy didn't have any classes. He didn't visit the professor to solve some puzzles and pass time in chit chat.

He came inside, his face the colour of the insides of a book. Without saying a word, he sat on the sofa. The professor acknowledged the child's presence with a slight nod and continued to work on a puzzle he was working on before Luke came in.

Suddenly he heard a shy cough. Then a small cough. Then another small cough. And another one. And so on. Luke suddenly sat up, tears building on the sides of his eyes as he continued with what seemed like a painful coughing fit.

"Luke? Do you need to go get some fresh air or a spot of tea, my boy?"

Luke's legs buckled underneath his weight. He fell to the floor, clutching himself tightly. He coughed. His coughs were not dry and brittle, but wet: full of spit and maybe phlegm and...something thick and red that seeped though his fingers.

"Luke!" Layton knelt down. The boy had managed to attain that ashen complexion that only those that are on death's door had on their faces. "Luke, calm down. Since when have you been sick? Why didn't you tell me before?"

Luke looked at him, his eyes glazed and unfocused. "P...professor..."

The blue-capped boy winced and curled up more.

"It hurts..."

"Where, my boy?" Layton gently rubbed the child's back. "Where does it hurt? Your throat? You head?"

He shook his head. He held his red-stained hands against his chest. "Here..."

He then went into another coughing fit.

"I-I'll go call the ambulance. Hang in there, Luke."

Luke held out a small hand and weakly tried to tug the professor's jacket. His intent was enough to stop the professor from leaving.

"I...I won't..." Luke collapsed to the side, Layton barely managing to catch him before his head hit the floor.

Layton eased the boy on the floor. He tried not to think about what Luke was about to say. He tried not to think what strange illness the boy had (Luke was perfectly healthy yesterday, or so he seemed...). He tried not to break down and cry in sheer anguish. What was he supposed to do now? For god's sake...Luke was just a child! This couldn't be happening!

He then noticed that the boy was still breathing. So laboriously it was a bit surprising that he had not noticed before.

There was still hope.

The pallor of Luke's visage made Layton want to run for help and stay by side at the same time.

Decisions, decisions...Stay or leave? Resign to fate or fight it?

...He had to go get help.

The professor rose and dashed to the door. He went through the University's layout in his head. Where were the medicine classrooms again?

"Professor!"

Layton stopped and turned.

He saw him.

Luke was standing, thin and nimble. A young sapling in size and height. So fragile and yet he was standing. He was conscious. And alive. Very much alive.

"Luke, go sit down. I'll go get you help." the Professor ordered kindly, a bit surprised at how calm his voice sounded. "In fact, I think that I'll go tell my collegue to call the ambulance while I watch over you and so we can get you to the hospital as quickly as possible and-"

"Professor...don't you know?" the lad's eyes widened "Today's is April Fool's Day!"

.

.

.

"Pardon?"

"Today is a day for pulling practical jokes! They say that you have to do them before noon and-"

"You were pulling my leg?"

"Yes!" the boy proudly boasted "I used my mum's powder to make me look real pale and made this red stuff out of strawberry jam! It tastes real good, but I almost chocked on it!"

Luke was grounded for the remainder of April.

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><p>"It just doesn't seem to add up, Professor."<p>

"I honestly thought that you were pulling my leg."

"What? I wouldn't **dream **of it!"

"..."


End file.
